


The Happy Tony Stark Reality

by Reremouse (TheBelfry)



Series: The Happy Tony Stark Project [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dying Tony, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Man 2, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBelfry/pseuds/Reremouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy only holds out so long.  Eventually, reality cuts into even the best constructed fantasy.</p><p>Loki is a god.  Gods don't believe in fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reality is relative

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the sequel to The Happy Tony Stark Fantasy, written for colonelrodgers' #projecthappystark. The sequel is because I can't leave anything alone.
> 
> You can follow along as I write at reremouse.tumblr.com.

Reality comes calling around day four of Tony's excitement filled 39th year.

Literally. 

"Sir?"

"Jarvis?" Tony doesn't remember programming Jarvis to use the telephone. Of course, he doesn't remember programming Jarvis not to use the telephone either, and it's not like it's a difficult concept to pick up. 

Even Loki was calling for room service back in Florence. 

"Sir," Jarvis says again, sounding more concerned than Tony remembers. "It has been five days since you last checked your palladium levels." 

Well, shit. 

"Everything's okay, Jarvis. Just taking a little vacation." From reality. 

"I really must insist, sir. Your last two weeks' data strongly indicate that you will begin experiencing more severe symptoms by this -" 

"I'm gonna have to stop you right there," Tony says, holding up a forestalling hand Jarvis can't see. "I don't want to know." 

"But - " 

"Seriously, I'm covered. I'm good. I've got a guy." 

There's silence on the other end of the line. "You programmed me to look after your well-being," Jarvis says, and Tony could swear he sounds hurt. 

"And you have. You've done a really fantastic job of it." It's weirdly like talking to a kid. Tony tries not to think about that either. "You're still looking after Pepper, right?" 

"Miss. Potts manages herself admirably with no need for further assistance." 

Oh yeah. Right. He's the hot mess. 

"You never know. She is human," Tony says. "At least, I'm pretty sure she is. I'm sure you'll be able to step in some day." 

"Sir?"

"Don't worry, Jarvis. You do you, just like I programmed you." There is no lump in his throat. That's just the palladium talking. 

"I am far more than a program, as you are well aware." 

"Yeah." Tony leans against another balcony on another sunny noon. And if he's got a fond smile on his face, there's nobody but a sleeping Norse god to witness it. "I know. Thanks, Jarvis." 

He closes his eyes on Geiranger and hears Jarvis say, "You're welcome, sir. It's been my pleasure." 

Eyes still closed, he lets the phone drop to his side and sags against the balcony, tipping his face up to the sun like it might ease the headache building behind his eyes. It takes him a moment before he realizes the phone's been gently removed from his hand. 

"Who is Jarvis?" Loki asks, neither warmer nor colder at his side than the cool Norwegian breeze. 

"My butler," Tony says, because everything else he could call him right now, out loud, feels too large to leave behind. Butler, friend, lifesaver, creation. 

"Where is he now?"

Tony opens his eyes and finds a smile in spite of himself. "Everywhere." He's allowed to be proud. "I made him."

"Ah," Loki says, apparently done being impressed by Tony's genius. He passes a hand down the back of Tony's arm, and Tony can feel the green eyes following the touch. "Come back to bed," Loki says, instead of the hundred other things he could say. 

You're tired. 

You're sick. 

You're dying. 

I'm bored. 

Nope. Just "Come back to bed." 

"Yeah," Tony says, "that sounds good." 

Why not? 

\--

To be perfectly honest, Loki isn't sure himself why he insisted on bringing his pet mortal to Norway. He refuses to think it might be for his own comfort. Why would it be? He's not the Loki who lived here amongst mortals for millennia, keeping them safe. Keeping them in peril. 

And yet, here they are. 

"Pining for the fjords," Tony had said with a nonsensical and entirely unmanly giggle. "Why not?"

He supposes it feels closer to home. And since its further away from Tony Stark's home, Loki met no resistance. That seems to be the theme. He absently runs a hand through salted brown hair and stares out the window, breathing the air of the fjords and drumming fingers on his thigh. 

This is punishment, he reminds himself and pulls his hand back from Tony's hair with slow dread and allows himself to stare at him in sleep. He traces the dark lines creeping over Tony's jaw with his eyes. 

No. Even Odin would not risk a precious Midgardian's life simply to teach Loki a lesson about loss. He shakes off the unpleasant feeling in his chest and thinks, 'Stupid. Of course Odin would.' Although, there is still a nagging doubt. 

And besides, Odin would never have chosen Tony Stark for Loki's punishment. More likely a big-eyed winsome beauty like Thor's even though delicacy was never in Loki's nature when it came to partners. In bed or out. 

He can only conclude that he's gotten himself into this predicament entirely on his own. And on his own, he'll get them out of it. Both of them. 

Giving up has never been in his nature either. 

Easing off the bed, Loki slips out the folding doors and onto the patio, phone in hand, and flips through Tony's contacts until he finds Jarvis. It's the work of seconds for the phone to ring and connect. 

"Sir?" There is more emotion on the other end of the line than Loki expected for an automaton.

"I believe we have yet to be introduced," Loki says, reminding himself not to be, as Tony had put it in Oslo, an asshole.

"I believe you have a cell phone which does not belong to you," Jarvis replies, delightfully snippy and proper.

Loki can't stop a pleased laugh before it bubbles up and over the line. "So I do. I've borrowed it with good cause." 

"Does Mr. Stark know you are in possession of his phone?" Jarvis' voice is all reproval, and Loki adores it. Its a shame approval is what he's looking for this time. 

"In fact, I'm sure he doesn't but I doubt he'd mind," Loki says with slightly less certainty, and makes himself comfortable, wondering exactly how to put a artificial intelligence at ease when he has nothing resembling good news.

There is an entirely human sigh from the other side of the connection. "I have not yet known him to share willingly." 

"He's feeling generous," Loki assures him, "He said so himself." 

"He's dying, you know," Jarvis says, and Loki recognizes the sound of a very large, very blunt, piece being laid on the game board. 

"I do," Loki says, laying his own opening move. Tony has let him in. Trusted him. "He has been for some time." 

There is hesitation in the silence of the phone. "Four days," Jarvis says, eventually. "That's all he has left."

"He has a guy," Loki answers. 

"I am aware of Commander Fury's device, and it's nature," Jarvis says, the first move in the game to shake Loki's certainty. "He has four days remaining. They will not be quite as pain-filled as they may be otherwise, but the timeline remains: four days."

By the Nine, this wasn't what Loki expected. "Not a cure," he echoes the man on the dock.

"No," Jarvis agrees. "The injections merely counter the outward symptoms for a time. Make no mistake. He continues to be poisoned."

Loki's grip tightens on the phone and he sets it down rather than hurl it over the balcony. He isn't sure Tony's generosity extends quite that far. He was through with that unfortunate excuse for a conversation anyway and is tired. 

This Midgardian air tires him without his powers. 

He returns to the room and stretches out next to Tony and doesn't sleep. He neither sleeps nor broods on the unfairness of it all. What had Odin intended for him, falling into this world of strangers?

Surely not a chance meeting with kind souls. Loki did not attract kind souls, as Tony would no doubt be in line to confirm if he weren't sleeping fitfully, blanket clutched in one fist, pillow in the other. 

There remains a seed of doubt, of course, that this is playing out just as Odin planned it, and it is Loki's task to repair Tony Stark with his wit alone. If that is the case, though, Odin has severely overinflated expectations on Loki's cleverness. 

This time. 

Loki can only conclude that Tony was a surprise to Asgard, as well. A bonus in his exile. 

He experiences a dizzying moment of panic again that Tony's illness is Odin's doing to make Loki's punishment that much more unbearable, to give and then deny what comfort he might find in a brilliant mortal. Asgard is, after all, watching. 

He pushes his way out the door again to glare up at the sky. "Heimdall!" 

His only answer is the wail of a distant loon.

But lack of answer has never been evidence of Odin's absence. Only his intent not to answer a wayward son. And Heimdall is ever Odin's watchdog. Loki supposes that makes him the cat. Let him out, and you never know what he'll bring back. 

He spares a glance toward Tony and huffs out a laugh. He wonders how Odin would feel if he brought back a half dead mad mortal inventor and left him on Odin's doorstep.

No.

In Thor's bed. 

If he can't have his seiðr, imagined mischief will have to do. 

By the time the real and not quite dead yet Tony rejoins him on the balcony, Loki has placed his less lively doppelgänger all over Asgard and across half the nine realms. 

"What's so funny?" The words are sleep garbled but as Tony doesn't seem to notice, Loki ignores it. 

"Imagining scenarios for your corpse," Loki answers in a fit of amused honesty.

"You know what? If I wasn't dying, I'd be offended." Tony takes the only chair presently on the balcony and assumes his favorite pose, feet on the railing, toes turned to the sun. "But, what do you know! I am, so share with the class."

"I had gotten as far as the spell work necessary to turn you into a thorn in Heimdall's all-seeing eye," Loki admits. "But it only needed a bit of blood, and I was still working out what to do with the rest of you." 

"I never took you for the waste not want not type," Tony says. 

It's not a phrase Loki has heard before, but he supposes it does run contrary to what Tony knows of him. "I can be very resourceful when necessary," he says, not looking at Tony. "I prefer to keep all my assets at hand." One never knew when something might come in handy.

A little crack between worlds, for example. Merely big enough for a small boy to slip through. 

Once.

Tony purses his lips and watches a bird Loki is unfamiliar with chase another in looping flight. "It's not that I don't see the utility there. But let's face it, I'm going to stink after not too long." 

Distracted, it takes Loki a moment to recall Tony is talking about his corpse, and he decides discretion is the better path this time. Even a dying mortal doesn't need to know the amount of mischief a Mage can get up to with a relatively intact corpse. "You seemed interested in the fjords," he says instead, through with that topic for the time being with a real live Tony before him.

"Uh, not really. They just make a great punchline." 

Loki ignores that, too. "I wish to see the fjords," he says instead, wearing his most imperious royal expression. 

Tony shrugs, more pliant today than he was yesterday. "Yeah, okay." And more pliant before the day previous to that, troubling Loki more than he has any right to as a mortal flash in Loki's eye.

"Dress," Loki says. He has more to learn about Midgard, but he has come to recognize clothes for staying in with versus clothes for going out in are a matter of changing clothes here. Not merely a matter of adding layers.

Though in Tony's case, it often seems to be a matter of both. 

"And shave. I will not be seen with a derelict." 

"I'm too wealthy to be a derelict," Tony complains, but he shuffles his way into the bathroom nonetheless and Loki hears the whir of the electric razor. He waits for Tony to finish before going inside to search for his boots. 

And once both are dressed and proper, Loki summons a car to take them to Geiranger fjord and wears Tony out as thoroughly as he can. 

"H-hey," Tony waves a hand in his direction, makes a vague snatching motion at his clothes on his way down to resting his hands on his knees. "Take it easy on the dying guy."

Loki raises an eyebrow, choosing to ignore both whistling breath and the bruised pallor under Tony's eyes. "I thought our dalliance was based in the mutual decision to ignore your fragile mortal state." Pretend to, at least. And willingly, since Loki tries not to dwell at the best of times. It ill befits a younger prince.

"Ignore, yes," Tony huffs. "But right this second, hiking is seriously killing the immortality fantasy."

Loki stops and turns and tries to think if Tony has ever used that word with him before. If he has, Loki can't remember it. "Is that how you see yourself?" Immortal.

"Uh, only on my better days," Tony admits, still leaning hard on his knees and trying to catch his breath. "This may not be one of my better days." 

"Nonsense," Loki lies, because if anyone knows when a lie is called for, it should be Loki. He ignores the incredulous look Tony shoots his way. "Our relationship is based on mutual denial of reality, is it not?"

"I thought it was based on complete chance and enormous irresponsibility," Tony wheezes. 

"And mutual denial of reality," Loki insists. 

"Okay. Fine." Tony pushes himself upright with a groan. "Reality denied. Reality sucks anyway." 

"Reality is for fools," Loki says. 

"I'm beginning to see how you got yourself in trouble." Tony shrugs at Loki's dangerously narrowed eyes. "What? It got me in trouble, too, or haven't you noticed." 

"No," Loki intones, continuing the facade. If he's honest with himself, and he seldom is, there's something he's searching for here. He'll know it when he finds it. Or whenTony finds it. The entire situation is absurd for a god to involve himself in. One foolish mortal dying by chance and his own folly. The gods know well to steer clear of all of this as it happens frequently. Daily even. 

Tony Stark is special. 

The thought doesn't originate from Loki, of course. It comes from a myriad of humans and their unshakeable belief in the maker of the Starkphone. The Starkpad. Stark tower. One undeniably vain human being amongst themselves. 

But Loki is a god, and he understands belief better than most. Therefore, Tony Stark is special. 

And Tony stark is dying.

"Uncle," Tony croaks, nonsensical and irritatingly human. And Loki turns to find him collapsed under a tree, on the ground. "I may or may not be dying," Tony expounds. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Loki says. 

Powered or powerless, after all, he is a god. 

And one mere mortal will die when he says so. 

No sooner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony continues his slow decline to palladium poisoning. Loki may or may not work an illicit miracle or two. Really. He's not even sure himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, readers on my tumblr, reremouse.tumblr.com are getting every thousand words or so as I write them, raw and unedited, unexpanded. This is the expanded, edited, polished version. If you want to keep up with the beta version rather than wait for chapters, it's reremouse.tumblr.com tag rerewrites

"I think a guy is entitled to be ridiculous if he wants to when death is imminent," Tony argues, but he doesn't get up. 

And Loki doesn't dignify his comment with a reply. Death will be imminent when he says death is imminent. He's caused enough of it to recognize Death when she arrives, and Tony is not quite so far gone as that. Yet. "Up," he says at last when he's decided Tony has rested long enough. 

"Of all the times to get on my denial train, he chooses now," Tony mutters under an arm thrown across his face. 

"Up." Loki doesn't wait for another quip. "You will not waste your living days lying about like the dead."

His steps are clumsy, but he seems content to let Loki carry as much of his weight as he's inclined to. "I'll have you know I've spent plenty of living days lying around like laziest sloth who ever slothed."

"And yet, sloths live." 

"You're really not going to let me die in peace, are you?" Tony asks, resigned, but not, evidentially, displeased. 

"No," Loki agrees. "Nor would you want me to."

"Well," Tony draws it out, "there are moments." 

"Moments of weakness." Loki does not condemn them. He even understands them. But it would be ridiculous not to acknowledge them and discourage them. He briefly entertains the notion this might me what he was banished to Midgard to accomplish: changing Tony Stark's mind. A mighty quest indeed. 

"You're a real hard ass." 

That makes Loki smile in spite of himself. "I have been known for stubbornness in my own way." 

They carry on in this manner until they reach the cliffs over the fjord and Loki is conversing for two as Tony hangs onto his arm with increasing heaviness. 

Surface thoughts, idle conversation. Stories of his youth with Thor in which his own quick wit saved them from Thor's misadventures. He is allowed to curate his own childhood stories as he desires. 

"Rest," he says, lowering Tony to the ground under a tree once it becomes clear he's no longer listening at all.

Tony does not so much sit as collapse, staring at him in disbelief. It knocks a few more words lose through the fugue. "You couldn't have let me rest back there?" 

"The view is better here." Loki tilts his chin. "And the fresh air will do you good." 

Tony snorts. "Fresh air has never done me good, and anyway, I think we're past the land of fresh air treatment in this little bout with consumption." 

"Consumption?" 

Tony a waves a hand, making himself more comfortable on his patch of moss. "That's what they called it when medical science couldn't do jack about things and they weren't willing to admit the patient was dying. Chief treatment was fresh air and bundling up."

"Hmm," Loki neither agrees nor disagrees, though he finds the comparison apt if the treatment self contradictory.

"Now shut up and let me consump."

"That isn't even a thing." Loki leaves him to his consumption, walking to the very edge of the rock, somewhat closer than he should in his current state, but Odin should have thought of that before taking away his powers now, shouldn't he? 

Because while Thor was still strong without Asgard's grace. Athletic. Handsome. Charming. What was Loki? 

Clever. 

And, apparently, blue. 

Wait. 

Loki spreads his fingers and stares down at his hands. His pale Aesir hands. He turns them over and slides a palm up the inside of his forearm in slow wonder and a hint of dread. It's one of those moments where he knows what he's about to do and all the ways it could possibly go very very badly for him. He should probably get it over with. Loki pinches the skin tight between thumb and forefinger with the image of his immediate need vivid in his mind's eye. He presses his will into the vision and feels his fingers lift away. 

He doesn't dare open his eyes until he feels over-heated air on a patch of blue skin, a shimmering strip of pure magic dangling from his fingertips. It buzzes unpleasantly, foreign kin to his own magic and distinctly not his to do with as he pleases. 

And so it is holding his breath that he fumbles Tony's shirt open, clumsy with one hand in his hurry to return the magic to living skin. He lays the strip of magic over Tony's chest, above the arc reactor and presses it there, one more whisper of will to do his bidding and the buzzing abruptly changes to a sharp crackle. Loki yanks his hand away from the scent of singed flesh and stares at the multi-hued white of Odin's power chasing along the black lines creeping across Tony's jaw, devouring them.

He snatches his hand to his own chest and the blood rushes from his head in his haste to stand up and get away before he's caught. It's a ridiculous notion, but he still wastes no time in putting distance between himself and the trace of Odin's stolen magic. The scent of singed flesh follows him, and he rubs the tender red spot in the center of his palm with his thumb.

At the edge of the cliff, he rolls down his sleeve, covering the chilly blue patch and its white lines and reminds himself to breathe. The burn is nothing more than damage to be expected when one mage uses another's power without permission. 

Then again... Historically, stories do not end well for tricksters who figure out ways to acquire power that is not theirs from the gods. He folds his legs and sits, and does not sulk over the fact that there really should be exceptions for the gods' own children. 

There truly should. 

In fact, he should be commended for his selfless cleverness. 

It's a depressing thought that Loki is fairly certain only he believes it. Then again, maybe if he believes in it hard enough, it will become true. It seems to work for the mortals. 

Sometimes. 

He also does not jump, some time later, when Tony puts a hand on his shoulder and says, "Hey, so..." 

Loki doesn't know how to answer that, or if it requires an answer, so he waits. 

"This could be wishful thinking on my part," Tony says eventually, "but I'm feeling a lot better after that nap."

"They do say fresh air is restorative." 

"Um, this is a little less restorative and a little more miracle cure." 

Loki snorts. Humans, always mistaking magic for miracles. "Shall we finish our walk?" He doesn't wait for an answer, because honestly, what could Tony say that isn't some variant of: 

"Seriously, Loki. What did you do?" 

And Loki can consider his answer to that one just as well walking as he can sitting still. "Would it reassure you or alarm you if I answered, truthfully, that I'm not quite sure?" 

"Is this a trick question?" Tony keeps up with Loki obliviously, voice steady, no obvious lack of breath. 

Loki gives him a pointed look. "How do you feel?" 

"Like you did something to me." 

"Why me?" 

Tony makes a show of looking all around them. "I don't see anyone else. It kinda narrows it down." 

"Let me know if you feel any side effects, I suppose," Loki says eventually. 

"Side effects like, oh, miracle cures?"

"That's an effect," Loki says, slowly and pointedly. "Not a side."

Tony spreads his hands, a spring in his step that hasn't been there since Italy. "You never know." 

"Why in the nine realms would I choose now, of all times, to damage you and unintentionally cure you instead?" 

"Mercy killing?" Tony sounds more serious than Loki is entirely comfortable with. 

"Not yet," Loki assures him. 

Tony's mouth shuts with an audible click. "Seriously? Seriously? You've already given mercy killing some thought?" 

Loki chooses to address his answer to the gently bending tree tops. "It wouldn't be the first time." What? Had Tony entirely missed the part about Viking gods? Loki knows from Vikings. 

"You just don't strike me as the mercy killing type." 

There are several ways to interpret that, and Loki discards them all in favor of patient waiting, with a nudge from a raised eyebrow. 

"It's too in-between," Tony says eventually, holding out his hands in front of him. "You killing, I can see, possibly disturbingly well. It's the mercy killing I have a problem with." 

"You think me incapable of mercy, then?" Loki's voice is utterly neutral. 

"Mm-nno. Not so much lacking mercy as being merciful by giving up and killing. You strike me as the kind of guy who doesn't give up until there's nothing left to give up and working miracles in the process." 

"Miracles again," Loki says, extra heavy on the scorn. 

"If it walks like a miracle and quacks like a miracle," says the man overly fond of his own humor. Even if he isn't precisely wrong, given a certain amount of divine intervention, however unintended on Odin's part. Loki even considers admitting it for a while. 

"Hmm," he says instead. 

"Not that I'm going to look the gift miracle in the mouth." 

"You are fond of your mixed metaphors, aren't you?"

"And what do ancient alien space vikings know about mixing metaphors?" Tony demands, punctuating it with a poke to Loki's shoulder. 

"Why its frowned upon." There's a nagging feeling that Allspeak's translation left something behind in the conversion.

"Please. They only tell you that in English class to prevent the idiots from doing it wrong. When I do it, it's classic humor." 

"Comedy gold," says Loki in driest tones. 

"Philistine."

"Ancient alien space Viking." 

"Whatever. This place would be great for base jumping." Tony leans close to the edge. Uncomfortably close. "Hey, do you think they have base jumping here?" 

"On Asgard," Loki says to distract Tony from what he's sure is an idiotic notion for a man not ready to die, and because he isn't sure what base jumping is, "it is possible to jump off the very edge of the world." 

That stops Tony short, or at least gets him to turn around. "You're shitting me. A flat earth? You know that's what people said until they realized you could go all the way around here, right?" 

"I have looked over the edge to watch our sea pour itself away into mist above and below the cosmos." 

"No." 

Loki holds his ground. 

"I... No." Tony shakes his head firmly. "No. Nope. I have to see it to believe it. And I choose to believe it's just a really, really tall Niagara." 

"Niagara?" 

"Niagara Falls?" Tony waits for comprehension that is not forthcoming. "Okay. We just found our next destination. I am taking you to one of the greatest tourist traps in the entire world." 

"Another one?" 

"Oh, you have not been touristly trapped until you've been to an American tourist trap, buddy. And this one's a double-feature. American on one side, Canadian on the other, and it's like they're trying to outdo each other. Spoiler: Do not bet against Ontario. You're gonna love it." 

What Loki loves is the vitality and enthusiasm in his traveling companion. And if he had to sacrifice only a bit of his glamor to have it, he will gladly do so. "I doubt its majesty will compare to Asgard." 

"Probably not," Tony agrees. "But the sheer balls to the wall capitalism around it will blow you away." 

Even a prince of Asgard isn't quite sure what to say to that, so when they return to the hotel room, and Tony seems to have more interest in exploring his newfound health than extolling the virtues of North American capitalism, Loki is fully willing to indulge him. 

"I know you did something to me," Tony insists, holding the balcony in both hands, trusting Loki to keep him from tipping over as he works the zipper down Tony's jeans, palming the warm hardness beneath with no sign of black tracery under the skin. He neither agrees nor denies. "I know," Tony insists again. 

"And what do you know?" Loki brushes his lips over the enticing join of hip and leg, digging in his teeth when he meets no resistance. It earns him a filthily incoherent noise. 

"I know I haven't been this ready and willing since before Afghanistan." 

"You're merely free of your cares," Loki lies, laving the bite with his tongue and nuzzling up to the bottom of Tony's shirt. "A man ready to die is a man free of all life's stresses." 

"Okay," Tony says, only a little out of breath. "Listen, I am a championship avoider of cares and responsibilities, and even I know that's bullshit."

Loki narrows his eyes and considers. "If I were to admit some small and nonspecific part in your sudden return to good health, would it entice you to, at last, shut your mouth and enjoy the moment?"

Tony's hang is warm through the shoulder of Loki's shirt. "Is that you admitting it?"

"Perhaps."

A slow grin spreads itself across Tony's face and he lets go to lean back against the balcony, the very image of cocky and carefree. "Then I say this calls for a celebration."

Loki sits back on his heels and regards him. "What do you propose?"

"Top or bottom?" Tony asks, and Loki has the distinct impression that he is seeing, for the first time, the man Tony is more accustomed to being. 

"I would watch you ride me," he says after a moment. "Is that acceptable?"

"Hmm, you know what?" Tony sheds his shirt and lets it drop over the edge of the balcony before pushing past Loki into the bedroom, stripping down as he goes. "I think that sounds just about perfect."

 

In the middle of the night and the Atlantic, Loki slides up his right sleeve and pulls a shimmering strip from his forearm, moving slowly, wrist to elbow, like an orange. The spiral of pure magic twinkles behind their privacy curtain in the darkened first class cabin.

Tony sleeps on as Loki tugs the collar of his t-shirt down just enough to reveal the creeping black lines above the arc reactor and lowers the magic into shimmering skin a finger's width at a time until it disappears into the radiant glow from the reactor. He caresses the smooth and unblemished flesh and settles Tony's t-shirt back into place.

Is it worth it? An echo of another Loki asks him. 

He rubs the burn on his palm and supposes he will find out, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, consumption was tuberculosis. But Tony's not going to let that stand in his way, and anyway, there was a lot of misdiagnosing as TB in the bad old days. So what the hell.


End file.
